


Military Chic

by manic_intent



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fallout Kink Meme, Fallout kink meme fills, M/M, Nope no plot here, PWP, Spoilers for mid game onwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate often thanked God for whoever had decided that orange jumpsuits were the latest in post-apocalyptic military chic. And the little hoods? What was with <i>that</i>? The general effect made walking onboard the Prydwen feel sometimes like wading through a steel coffin full of orange tadpoles. It used to keep him reliably amused whenever he visited the Prydwen to unload salvage on Teagan. The first time he had realized that even <i>Arthur</i> was wearing one of the damned jumpsuits under his gorgeous coat, Nate had laughed out loud and had gotten thrown out of Arthur’s room on his ass for his trouble.</p><p>1. Military Chic: The Jumpsuit<br/>2. Open Door Policy: First Time/Begging<br/>3. Disciplinary Action(s): Spanking<br/>4. Learning Curves: First Time (Blowjob)<br/>5. Water Under the Bridge: Rimming</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Military Chic

**Author's Note:**

> Actually when I looked at ref pics for this fic I have NFI how the jumpsuit even comes off, so I will uh, extrapolate.
> 
> Prompt: Maxson has put a little extra chub on but hasn't (seemingly) noticed. SS has though, and SS is the one having trouble breathing. Especially as he watches Maxson have a bit of trouble with some of the zips one morning and shuffles uncomfortably during the day in a suit that has become more like spandex. Those things were tight around the ass and hips as it is was, but now SS feels like he needs a cigarette every time Maxson so much as leans forward on the command deck railing.
> 
> By the end of the day, poor SS can only take so much, and fucks Maxson against the mattress like his life depends on it.
> 
> +Default names

Nate often thanked God for whoever had decided that orange jumpsuits were the latest in post-apocalyptic military chic. And the little hoods? What was with _that_? The general effect made walking onboard the Prydwen feel sometimes like wading through a steel coffin full of orange tadpoles. It used to keep him reliably amused whenever he visited the Prydwen to unload salvage on Teagan. The first time he had realized that even _Arthur_ was wearing one of the damned jumpsuits under his gorgeous coat, Nate had laughed out loud and had gotten thrown out of Arthur’s room on his ass for his trouble. 

That had been unfortunate. And it had taken Nate a week of abject grovelling to steal his way back into Arthur’s bed, at that. None of the Brotherhood seemed to be able to take a joke - though Nate had hopes for some of the Squires, whom he kept well-bribed with Sugar Bombs and Dogmeat’s tricks. Best to start revolutions with the young. 

The days grew into summer, and the Prydwen went from a vaguely stifling bunker box into a microwave at the best of times. Nate retreated, citing Institute leads, and spent a week amusing himself by helping Valentine ‘solve’ some cold cases, all the while dressed up as the Silver Shroud and channeling the Maltese Falcon. So what if it was the end of the world? Nate had never learned how to take life seriously. 

When the temperature dropped to vaguely acceptable levels, Nate returned to the Prydwen, armed with Sugar Bombs, and nearly dropped his stash all over the deck when he crept past the main command deck and noticed Arthur braced against the rail, glancing out at something or other. 

Without his coat. 

Just in his boots and the goddamned _jumpsuit_. And hell was it doing a great job of sticking tight to his skin. Especially that _ass_ -

“Paladin,” a passing Scribe greeted Nate, and he almost fell right down the steps into the bridge. Too late to hide now - Arthur glanced up sharply, scowling when he recognised Nate. 

“To me, Paladin,” Arthur said flatly.

Resigned, Nate pushed the boxes of Sugar Bombs onto the hapless Scribe. “Get these to Squire Emma, would you? Tell her she has to share. Part of the, uh, training regime.” 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Arthur told him, when the Scribe scurried off, Nate making his way into the main command deck. “I’ve received complaints from Knight Captain Cade.”

“I’m busy cultivating their loyalties for my eventual usurpation of your authority,” Nate replied blandly, and tried not to stare at Arthur’s ass. Or those powerful thighs. Surely the jumpsuit wasn’t this tight before-

“Paladin,” Arthur said sharply, though he was smirking a little when Nate glanced up belatedly. “Eyes up here.” 

“Sorry sir,” Nate said blithely, not in the least embarrassed at being caught out. “I missed you…?”

“Did you resolve your ‘leads’?” Arthur asked dryly, though his ears reddened a little, always promising. 

Busted. “Sure did.”

“Do tell.” 

“Think the debrief should be private, sir.” What the hell was that big steel loop under the very dog-collar like leather band for again? This was not good for Nate’s blood pressure. 

Arthur clearly didn’t buy it, but nodded, to Nate’s pleasant surprise. “Very well. My quarters.” 

Following Arthur to the main deck was a new sort of torture. Had the suit always hugged the Elder’s ass and hips so tightly? The thing looked _spray-painted_. And what the hell was with all those gray straps that sat so snugly over the hips and, fuck, down the cleft of that amazing ass? Or the corset-like buttoned flap thing at the small of the back? or the main strap that ran up Arthur’s ramrod straight spine? How was it that all these orange tadpoles didn’t walk around with hard-ons? It was a wonder that they made it to Arthur’s quarters as it was. Nate was sorely tempted to just jump Arthur on the spot. Only the knowledge that Arthur was fully capable of kicking his ass gave him pause: getting exiled from the Prydwen would be unfortunate.

“Why are you not wearing your coat?” Nate asked in a slightly strangled voice, by the time they closed the door to Arthur’s room. 

“Until Ingram repairs the onboard cooling systems, it’s too hot even in the main command deck. I’m surprised at you, Paladin,” Arthur added disapprovingly. “Are you making fun of me again? Because I _will_ kick you off the _Prydwen_ this time, not just out of my room.” 

“Did you uh… well, get a smaller size than usual or… did it shrink in the wash or-“

Arthur stared at Nate for a long time, then he flushed slightly. “My duties have kept me off the field for a few weeks,” he said tightly, “And if you’re implying that I’ve put on-“

Nate gave in. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight. Or, in any case, he wanted to get at least a kiss in before Arthur had him forcibly escorted off the ship, maybe without even a vertibird. Arthur let out a muffled yelp as Nate grabbed him and shoved him up against the ship’s steel hull, devouring his mouth, hands splaying over and then kneading Arthur’s ass. At that, Arthur stiffened up in outrage, thick-fingered hands fisting warningly in the collar of Nate’s coat, but then he stifled a gasp against Nate’s mouth as Nate pointedly pressed his hard-on against Arthur’s hip. 

He kissed Arthur until Arthur started stifling whimpers against his mouth, squirming against him, hungry. That had been one fun little side effect out of the Brotherhood’s uptight, righteous little schtick. Nate was comfortably sure that he was probably the best lay that Arthur had ever had. Possibly the first, even, not that Arthur was willing to kiss and tell. Which, all right, maybe made Nate a bit of a dirty old man, given the ten year age gap, but existential concerns about his personal moral bankruptcy had always taken a bit of a back seat to lust where Nate was concerned. 

Arthur bit him on the neck, above his scarf, when Nate managed to wrestle them both over to the bed, and he leaned back on his elbows to watch as Nate dragged off his coat and scarf with little ceremony, dumping them on the deck. They kissed as they kicked off boots, scraped teeth against skin and jaw and pulse as they struggled with the straps of their holsters and belts, rifles clanking on the deck, munition pouches shoved off the bed. Nate was down to just his trousers by the time he got Arthur pinned on the mattress and he grinned, wolfish, hooking his fingers in the metal rings caught in the straps that ran over Arthur’s shoulders.

“Enjoying the view, sir,” Nate told Arthur, when Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Arthur rolled his eyes, fiddling with the zips and buckles, jerky at first, then fumbling and scrabbling as Nate pressed playful, sloppy kisses on each new reveal of skin, stripping off his own trousers and underwear. 

Arthur cursed him breathlessly when Nate got his mouth on a nipple, scraping his teeth against it, then laughing and licking as he nearly got an elbow to the temple. By the time Arthur finally managed to squirm out of the jumpsuit they were both far too impatient for any more teasing; Arthur shoved the jar of salve that they used for slick into Nate’s hand and bit him hard enough on the shoulder to draw blood when Nate fumbled it briefly between them in his haste. 

Hissing, Nate managed to wrangle Arthur facedown onto the bed, slapping him across the ass when Arthur growled something snarky about growing old. This got him an indignant yelp and a glare, though the flush in Arthur’s cheeks climbed, reddening the notched scar on his skin - a thought for another time, perhaps. Nate was so hurried with prep that he was sure that it couldn’t be too comfortable, though from the way Arthur squirmed against his fingers and clutched at the bed, he could see that he wasn’t the only one growing impatient. When Nate finally pushed the slicked cap of his cock past the tight ring of puckered muscle, Arthur let out a thick strangled whine that he buried in the pillows. 

“You in that suit,” Nate gasped, as he sank in, Arthur arched beneath him, one hand clenched in the edge of the mattress, the other braced against the hull. “Fucking hell. Combined with that ass of yours. Should be illegal.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur groaned. “ _Ngh_ …! I hate you.” 

“Going to fuck you so hard,” Nate promised him, when he got all the way deep, gritty as the slide was, difficult as it had been to get the thick root of his cock through. 

Arthur was trembling against him, panting shallow wet gasps against the pillow, the hottest thing Nate had ever heard. And the way Arthur sometimes tried to grind back against him, even though it wasn’t physically possible to get Nate any deeper? _Hot_. Nate had always been partial to powerful men, and the extra weight on Arthur’s frame was still padded against muscle. The boy beneath him was in the prime of his life, glorious, even - or especially - pinned like this under Nate, ass up and cheek on the pillow. 

“Do it then,” Arthur growled, when the pressure around Nate’s cock was starting to ease off a little. “Stop wasting my time.” 

“Copy that, sir,” Nate drawled, setting his hands over Arthur’s hips. He didn’t bother starting slow, driving Arthur against the mattress with each thrust, using leverage and his weight to shove up an inch each time, grinning, teeth bared, as Arthur’s grip on the bed turned white-knuckled, his moans pitching higher as though punched out of him. Arthur tried to buck against Nate’s rhythm, conscientious as ever even in bed, but then he gave up quickly and just held on. 

“Harder,” Arthur snarled at him, still so belligerent even while bare-assed and stuffed full and this was what drew Nate continuously back to the crazy militant cultists, unfortunately: Arthur seemed to warp sanity and self-control by the sheer force of his presence. It was clear who was still in command, and Nate laughed and pressed sloppy kisses on the arch of Arthur’s spine and obeyed. For all that he felt that the Brotherhood of Steel was several cards short of a full deck - Nate always obeyed. 

When Nate curled a spit-slicked hand around Arthur’s cock, Arthur spat out a curse and shoved his hips against Nate’s grip, thrusts stuttering, already desperate. By now Nate knew what Arthur liked: a tight fist at the base, yanking up, then tugging down hard to pull the foreskin down over the cap. Arthur shivered and tensed up, biting down over the pillow to stifle a yell, and Nate chuckled as he licked a stripe up over his shoulder, salt on his tongue, bracketing Arthur down. Arthur liked that as well, liked the reminder that Nate was physically bigger, a little stronger, liked how Nate set his teeth against the nape of his neck like a wolf holding its mate down: he always moaned in a low, anxious rumble, biting down on his lower lip. _Hot_. Like this, another tug and Arthur was pumping his hips blindly into Nate’s fist, burying his cries against the pillow, shaking apart. 

Nate fucked him through it, merciless, the way Arthur seemed to like it, his soiled hand clenched over Arthur’s shoulder, smearing fluid over his skin, bearing him down and taking him in sharp, hard jerks until Arthur gasped, “ _Enough_ , Nate, _please_ -“ and it was always the _please_ that got to him, like listening to a fragment of unreality, tearing something like that out of someone so normally aloof. After Nate was spent, he bowed his head and inched his hips against Arthur’s ass, lazily, playful now, until Arthur muttered something darkly and slapped at his temple.

“So why _did_ you disappear for a whole week?” Arthur demanded, when Nate curled up sleepily against him. 

“Do you want an official story or the truth, sir?” 

Arthur glared at him. “You - are _really_ … Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you sir.” Nate tried to kiss Arthur on the mouth and got an elbow in the ribs for his temerity, but as Arthur tried to shove him off the bed Nate hooked their legs together deftly, and they both tumbled off heavily, Arthur furious, Nate laughing, pinning Arthur against the deck and the nest of their scattered clothes. 

When Arthur stopped growling and trying to hurt him, Nate conceded, “It was too hot onboard. But if I knew that you were going to be down to that jumpsuit all _week_ , I probably would’ve come back earlier. Have I already told you how amazing your ass is? People should write _songs_ to it-”

“… That’s _it_. Paladin, you are now banished from the Prydwen. For a _week_.”


	2. Open Door Policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh what the hell, I might as well put the rest up here too, if only so I can edit them properly.  
> \--  
> Prompt: I just need something that ends up with Arthur begging Nate to fuck him. Maybe he's so riled up that he just needs to be under Nate right NOW. Maybe Nate is doing something totally innocent on the Prydwen like fixing up some armor or eating in the mess with other soldiers, who knows, but as Arthur watches him he's trying not to bust his nut then and there. No dub-con or anything like that -- Nate doesn't object to fucking Maxson at all. 
> 
> I would love it if it was Maxson's first time both with Nate and being with a man (if you rather him being a virgin that only banged one out to the thought of Sarah, I'd be fine with that too). So, there's that lovely confusion at his attraction to Nate.
> 
> Default names preferred.

Whatever breed of soldier Paladin Nate had been two centuries ago was extinct now in the new world. Not that Nate seemed to care. He was an extremely effective solo operator, completing missions with brutal efficiency, a man-and-dog team that somehow got better results than even the best of Arthur’s field squads. But - perhaps because Nate seemed to be a breed of soldier used to working alone and behind enemy lines - he also seemed to have no… _boundaries_. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Nate to be seen wandering blithely around the Prydwen, poking his head into places which were none of his business: so far, Arthur had received complaints from all the Proctors other than Quinlan, and that was probably only a matter of time. Now, Arthur tried to look annoyed as Nate wandered into his room without even knocking and sprawled into a spare chair, close to where Arthur was working at his terminal.

“Basic courtesy would have you at least _knock_ ,” Arthur pointed out. 

“I thought you had an open door policy, sir.”

“That’s not meant to be taken _literally_ ,” Arthur grit out, but arguing with Nate tended to be a futile sort of endeavour, if only because Nate would just grin at him, dark eyes gleaming, as though storing it all away to turn into a joke afterwards. If the man wasn’t so easy on the eyes, with his strangely soft, perpetually disheveled dark hair, his expressive eyes and soft mouth, his annoyingly handsome face, and those impossibly long legs- 

Normally, Arthur would’ve told off a Brotherhood soldier for wearing gear that wasn’t Brotherhood-issue, but the leather trousers that Nate was wearing hugged his legs so sleekly that it was hard to argue. A man who could carry off the Wastelander look - patchwork armour and patchwork weapons - was a man who could wear whatever he wanted and still draw admiring looks from all quarters. 

Arthur shifted uncomfortably under his desk, glad that he was wearing his coat. His cock was starting to press against his breeches. Normally, he had better things to do than sate his baser instincts. Nate, however- surely the Devil himself had worked on someone like Nate: that kind of sheer physical allure was unholy. 

“Elder?” 

Arthur blinked - he had been drifting. Nate grinned at him, with that annoying, secretive grin. “I was trying to tell you about some synth I met in the wilderness. Was being confronted by the man he duplicated.”

“You destroyed the synth, I presume.” 

Nate shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t really be certain which one was the synth on a first glance. So I just broke the fight apart. One of them took off instantly, so I followed him for a while. Funniest thing. He went past this house and a behemoth barrelled up and slapped him into the dirt. Turns out synths break pretty easily. Judging from the metal bits in his head.” 

“You stayed around a behemoth to check the body?”

“Nah, Dogmeat and I ran off with our tails between our legs and used a scope.” Nate admitted cheerfully, totally unashamed. “Not everyone can whack giant monsters one on one.” 

Arthur sighed. Nate was the first person whom Arthur had ever met who had been _amused_ by his childhood exploits rather than suitably awed. “Anything else?” he asked pointedly. “I’m working.” 

Nate studied him curiously for a long moment, then he grinned, and motioned at Dogmeat. The dog got to its feet from where it lay on the deck near Arthur and padded over to the door, nudging it shut. Then it curled up in a corner of the room and went back to sleep. “Seems to me,” Nate said, as Arthur stared, “That maybe we might wanna discuss how you’re always staring at my ass. Sir.” 

“I… _what?_ ”

“Pretty obvious, sir.”

Arthur could feel his cheeks starting to heat up under his beard. “I would not have taken advantage of my position-“ 

“Aww, don’t say things like that, I’ll get disappointed.” Nate laughed at the disbelief that had probably just crept right onto Arthur’s face. He uncurled to his feet, slinking closer, bracing one palm against the back of Arthur’s chair and the other against the desk, bracketing him in, leaning close. “To be fair, we could also discuss how _I’ve_ been staring at your ass. Since we first met.” 

“I don’t…” Arthur began, uncertain, then he grit his teeth as Nate began to smirk, that annoying, smug little grin that was exasperating and perfect in equal measure - and Arthur found himself grabbing Nate by the shoulders, tugging him over. The kiss - Arthur’s first - was fumbled, more teeth, too much force; but Nate gentled it deftly, licked into his mouth, and _this_ was better, dizzyingly better. They kissed as Arthur learned that carding a hand into Nate’s hair made him groan; kissed as he learned that kisses were surprisingly loud, and wet and lewd; kissed as Nate hauled him up and they stumbled away precariously to land in Arthur’s bed. 

Nate seemed content to sprawl on top, a hand curled on Arthur’s hip and an elbow braced on the mattress, but Arthur was hungry for more, now, lost as he felt. He had never been this hungry for another person, never felt so eager for someone else’s touch. “Nate,” he gasped, as Nate let them up for air, and felt Nate chuckle in a low rumble, pressed together. 

“It’s all right,” Nate said gently, misunderstanding the dazed look on Arthur’s face. “We can go slow.”

“Go slow?” Arthur repeated, incredulous. “I don’t want to ‘go slow’.” 

“Really now,” Nate’s grin was growing predatory, and he pressed another demanding kiss against Arthur’s mouth before breathing, against his mouth, “D’you even know what I want to do to you, _sir_? I’ve thought about sucking your cock. Right here,” Nate drawled, as Arthur hissed, “Or right up at the main command deck, where everyone can see… I don’t really fuckin’ care. Best blow you’d ever have, I can bet on that.” 

“Paladin-“

“Thought about actually _having_ you, as well,” Nate continued conversationally, his mouth tickling up to Arthur’s ear. “Spreading you open on my fingers, do it slow until you can’t stand it anymore, then fill you up with something better,” he growled, as Arthur’s breath caught into a low gasp. “Fuck you until you can’t sit easy for a _week_.” Fingers curled over Arthur’s tenting arousal, and Nate chuckled again, lower, rougher.

“Do it then,” Arthur bit out, before he could change his mind, pushing his hips into Nate’s grip.

“Sorry sir, gonna need you to specify,” Nate said, with that annoying smug smirk again, but this time Arthur felt like he was drowning too quickly in lust and desperation to even get angry about it.

“Fuck me,” Arthur gasped, as Nate’s grip tightened, Creator, that felt _good_ , that sure and confident pressure. “ _Please_.” 

“Oh hell,” Nate said, incredulous, and he bent; this time as they kissed they mauled each other, more teeth than tenderness, clawing at their clothes, blunt nails skittering over flesh as they tore off coats and jumpsuits and belts. Boots got wedged between the cot or bounced off the floor, and they cursed the inconvenience, cursed each other, blood flecked between their tongues. Nate was trying to slow things down, gentle them both, but Arthur didn’t want that. He’d tasted blood now, and wanted more, more like this, two predators circling. 

Nate obliged, teeth sunk against Arthur’s neck as he fumbled slick from gun oil against his hip, though his fingers were gentle as he pressed one into Arthur, slowly, as though waiting for him to object. Impatient, Arthur pointedly spread his thighs wider, and felt Nate’s next cough of laughter rumble between them, his finger curling. It felt uncomfortable rather than painful, even as his body took two, then, slowly and with some difficulty, three, and Arthur was frowning up at the ceiling in confusion and some irritation until Nate mumbled something and _twisted_ his fingers and _there_ , what was _that_ , that shock of white noise, electric-

“Here we are,” Nate whispered against his ear, smug again, and started to thrust his fingers roughly against that spot, kissing down the old scars on Arthur’s frame until he got to his cock, though the moment Arthur felt the wet pressure of Nate’s mouth he was bucking with a shout, trembling, dimly aware of Nate coughing and pulling back. Nate grinned at Arthur as he stared blankly down, catching his breath, and - Creator - started to clean him up, licking, ignoring Arthur’s little whines and hisses at the laps over his too-sensitive flesh. 

“Ready for more?” Nate asked, his tone nearly gentle, when Arthur was clean and starting to stir again. “Tell me.” 

“Please,” Arthur groaned, as Nate nipped him on his thigh, on the sensitive underside, then he was pulling Nate up, impatient, Nate’s fingers slipping out and curling wetly against his knee, hoisting it up, spreading him wider. 

Arthur expected Nate to be rough, but Nate was slow, frowning to himself as he pressed in, waiting whenever Arthur winced or grimaced. It seemed like forever by the time Nate was hilted: taking the thick root had been difficult, and Arthur still felt dizzy that this was even possible, dazed by how _full_ he was. 

“All right?” Nate whispered. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “Does it get easier?” 

Nate grinned at him, predatory again. “It’ll get better,” he promised, though he was gentle even when it _did_ get better, when the pressure and the pain seemed to ease up. Nate rocked into him, squirming around until his cock pressed against _that_ spot, within him, and he swallowed Arthur’s gasps, his moans, the rest of his pleas and curses. So this was sex, and it was nothing like Arthur had thought: far messier, far more filthy, and so _good_ , bound so intimately with someone else, an exercise in tenderness and trust. 

The world elsewhere seemed to matter so much less; Arthur didn’t even glance up during the dinner bell, or at lights out, as he heard the banked lights switch to low with dim _thunks_ outside, as the guard changed with muffled clanks. He didn’t know how long it was until Nate finally groaned something against Arthur’s cheek and stiffened up, spilling inside him with shallow thrusts, curling a hand around Arthur to hurry him over the edge as well with quick jerks. 

When they caught their breaths, Arthur could sense Nate’s hesitation, curled together on the cot. “What?” Arthur asked, brusque.

“Just wondering whether I’m going to get kicked out,” Nate noted bluntly, though he grinned.

Arthur frowned. “Why would I do that?” 

“Seems a thing for some people.” Nate kissed him playfully on the nose, and laughed as Arthur growled and swatted him. “I like how open your policy is-“

“Paladin. Shut up and go to sleep.”


	3. Disciplinary Action(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A good old fashioned spanking. Maybe the SS was caught stealing files and holotapes, maybe it's punishment for the end of Danses personal quest, or maybe they have an established thing going on between them. Either way I would love to see Maxson bending the SS over his knee.

In Nate’s defense, he’d actually not realized that introducing the Squires aboard the Prydwen to the wonderful world of actually having a goddamned childhood would have far-reaching consequences. Especially once they found out how fun pranks could be. And _then_ pointed their cute kiddie fingers in his direction when they were caught, the little hobgoblins. Which then resulted in an hour-long dressing down by Arthur in the main command deck. 

Nate tuned out and murmured affirmative, contrite noises at appropriately timed periods. After spending most of his adult life in the military, Nate was well-equipped mentally to deal with a downpour of shit from high command, all the while working out in his head what he was going to do for the rest of the day. Visit Croup Manor to see how the crops were going, maybe. Or check in on Deacon-

“Are we clear, Paladin?”

“Aye sir,” Nate said, trying not to sound hopeful. Maybe the lecture was over. 

To his surprise, Arthur let out a deep sigh. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

Busted. “Of course I was, sir.” 

Arthur eyed him sourly, and Nate tried not to think _too_ hard back on the last time he’d been to the Prydwen. Trying to fuck Arthur through his bed had been a key part of that experience… and… Hm. If he didn’t put a stop to that train of thought, Nate’s decision not to wear power armour today was probably going to get him thrown off the Prydwen from mid-air. 

“With me, Paladin.” Arthur said flatly, and this was a nice bit of deja vu, even though Arthur was wearing that coat of his instead of just the jumpsuit. Back in Arthur’s private chamber, Arthur closed the door pointedly behind Nate, then he jerked his thumb at the bed. “Strip.” 

Nate raised his eyebrows. “Already?” he asked, playful. 

“Didn’t you hear me, soldier? I said _strip_.” 

“Yes sir,” Nate said, curious now, and, all right, maybe a little bit turned on. Arthur radiated a commanding presence at all times, and in the bowels of a military ship like this, surrounded by military ~~cultists~~ , it was embarrassing how _familiar_ it still seemed to feel to Nate. And he did secretly crave it. That false sort of comfort. Morally bankrupt as it was to do so. 

He removed his holsters and belts playfully, toying with the buckles, but when Arthur shook his head and snapped, “Stop wasting time,” Nate nodded and stopped trying to tease. He toed off boots, unbuckled chestpieces and arm guards, slipped off thigh greaves. Arthur watched him keenly through it all, though his expression remained forbiddingly stern.

This was getting surprisingly awesome. Nate had to commend the Squires afterwards. Give them a Sugar Bombs raise, maybe. Naked, Nate sat on the bed, letting his thighs fall open teasingly, leaning back on his palms. He wasn’t the sort to feel the least embarrassed about nudity, something that amused Cait and horrified Danse in equal measure around the Co Op. Arthur, however, was appreciative, though his mouth stayed set in a thin line: his eyes travelled up and down, thoughtful, then he strode over. 

Nate leaned forward, expecting to be told to drop on his knees and make an apology with his mouth, or something equally lewd, but was surprised instead as Arthur sat on the bed and grasped Nate by the nape of his neck, fingers digging into the skin. 

“I think you need to be taught a lesson, Paladin,” Arthur said coldly. 

Was Arthur really going to…? “I still don’t see why it’s my fault, sir,” Nate said, as innocently as he could. “Besides, it’s a good effect overall. Some of you orange tadpoles turned into blue tadpoles. Nothing wrong with that. Looks better too-“ 

“Silence,” Arthur snapped, and dragged him down, hauling him over his lap. It was an awkward fit on the narrow bed, especially with Nate taller than Arthur, and he nearly mashed his jaw against the bottom rung of the bed. Arthur let him squirm into a less precarious position, and then the first blow fell with a hard _smack!_ against his right cheek. 

“Shit!” Nate cursed. Arthur had a _lot_ of strength in his arm. 

“Shut up.” Arthur whacked him again, this time on the other cheek. “I’m beginning to wonder if you ever _were_ in the military before,” he added, punctuating some of his words with hard smacks. “You lack discipline _and_ respect for authority.” _Smack_. “If you weren’t a surprisingly efficient operative I would have reconsidered your promotion by now.” _Smack_. “Are you listening? Permission to speak.” He pinched Nate hard on his reddening left cheek, twisting, and Nate yelped, startled. 

“Fuck! Yes I’m listening!”

“Yes I’m listening _sir_ ,” Arthur corrected, and this time the blow fell lower, precariously close to Nate’s tightening balls. Dully, Nate realized that he was rock hard, and rubbing blindly against Arthur’s leather-clad thigh. It hadn’t escaped Arthur’s attention, either: he rubbed his palm in a possessive, lazy caress down smarting cheeks, and pressed a thumb experimentally against the base of his cock.

The reprieve didn’t last. “You’re irreverent,” Arthur growled, and the blow this time drove Nate up a little against Arthur’s thigh, making him suck in a hiss. “Irresponsible… look at you even now,” Arthur added, almost wonderingly. “You’re enjoying this.” 

Nate couldn’t help it: he started to chuckle. “I’m naked in bed with you and I’m _not_ meant to enjoy it?” 

“Maybe I should use a whip,” Arthur said, scowling. 

“Ever used one before? Not as easy as it looks. Maybe I could suck your cock,” Nate added quickly, as Arthur sucked in an irritated breath. 

“You don’t deserve any satisfaction today,” Arthur said icily, though his hand stroked lazily up and down Nate’s tender ass. 

“Don’t see what that has to do with what I said, sir.” 

“… On your knees,” Arthur shoved at Nate’s shoulder, and Nate went, grinning, oblivious to the coldness of the deck, the rivets digging against his legs. Arthur sat back and let Nate do all the work, navigating buckles and zips, though he tucked his hand around the back of Nate’s skull as Nate bent to take Arthur’s thick, flushed cock into his mouth. 

Today Nate let Arthur use him, concentrating on relaxing his throat, fighting his gag reflex, as Arthur grunted and gripped him tight by the hair and shoved into his mouth, driving down against the back of his throat. Tears were coming to his eyes, but Nate groaned urgently when Arthur started to slow down, and Arthur growled something Nate couldn’t make out and fucked his mouth harder. Deeper. His voice was going to be broken after this, his voice raw, but Nate obediently kept his hands on his knees and moaned and tried not to think about how painful his cock was now, dripping onto the deck. When Arthur finally started to come, Nate swallowed all that he could, choking, then lapped up the rest, meticulous, enjoying the view: Arthur slumped on the bed, still mostly dressed, but flushed and disheveled and panting. Hot. 

Eventually, Arthur pulled him up onto the bed, even as he tucked himself away and set his clothes to rights. “Learned your lesson?” Arthur asked gruffly. 

“If I tell you the truth, do we get to do all that again?” Nate asked archly. 

“… You’re impossible.”


	4. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First Times

“I’m going to hell,” Nate breathed. He was sprawled on the bed in his allocated room aboard the Prydwen, _Danse’s_ old room, thighs pushed apart and bracketing Arthur’s broad shoulders.

Kneeling on the deck, Arthur rolled his eyes as he worked on Nate’s belt. “What’s the problem _now_?”

“You’re so _young_ ,” Nate gushed archly, because he knew any mention of Arthur’s age to his face tended to piss him off. People, eh? The young hated being young, and the old hated being old. 

As he thought, Arthur glowered at Nate even as he got his belt off and tossed it aside. “If you try and pinch my cheeks again I’ll have you locked in the brig.” 

“Oh yes _do_ lock me in the brig,” Nate said, amused. “What with my ass being chased around by the Institute, having to put out fires in settlements, do Ingram’s stuff, Kells’ stuff, Nick’s cases and whatever the hell else I’m meant to be fixing lately, the brig would be _awesome_. Like a holiday.”

“Someday you’re going to have to learn to prioritise,” Arthur got his thumbs into the hem of Nate’s trousers and underwear, tugging them down to the tops of his boots. 

“Brotherhood first, everyone else can die in a fire?” 

“ _Me_ first,” Arthur smirked up at him, so smug even on his knees, and pulled Nate to the edge of the bed. “Now you were saying something about a learning process?” 

“Some people want you just to go straight to town,” Nate stroked his fingers through the bristly spikes over Arthur’s close-shaved scalp. “Me, I don’t mind being teased. Tongue first, lick me over. Watch the teeth… _yeah,_ ” Nate sighed, as Arthur bent to lick curiously at the tip. “Just like that. Spit on a hand, use that on the rest. Get me hard.” 

That was the good thing about soldier boys. They were good at following orders. Arthur tried a few kitten licks at the tip, tongue flicking under the foreskin, then longer, harder laps from root to tip, flattening his tongue, squeezing the rest with gun-roughened fingers. Nate got his hand around Arthur’s grip, showed him a better rhythm, squeezing on the downstroke to tug on the foreskin rather than the reverse, and this was way better than Nate had even thought it would be, when Arthur had first gruffly offered to try and learn a few tricks, always so conscious about fairness. 

“When you’re ready,” Nate suggested, husky again, “Put what you can in your mouth - watch the teeth!” he added hastily, wincing, as Arthur got his mouth over the thick cap. “Your lips, get them under - that’s better. That’s so good. Doing so well.” Arthur whined in his throat, eyes squeezed shut, throat working. He couldn’t quite seem to get more than a couple of inches in without starting to gag, but Nate stroked his cheek and neck soothingly. 

“Don’t worry about that. You’re already doing great. Rest is all practice.” He pressed his thumb playfully against the stretched line of Arthur’s mouth, lightheaded now, concentrating on staying still instead of thrusting up. “Now pull up and come back down - yeah, God, you look so good,” Nate purred, as Arthur obeyed, and growled “Oh fuck,” as Arthur started to suck, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as Nate moaned his name. 

Arthur was a quick study, at least - he easily figured out that Nate liked being jacked off with just enough strength to toe the edge of pain, liked the tip of his cock being licked every time Arthur drew back up. But the best of it was just the _view_ : Arthur on his knees, flushed, mouth stretched and wet, _trying to please_ , God. Morally bankrupt as all this was in so many ways, Nate had known long ago that he was lost; for all that Arthur was the one on his knees, Nate was the one who would follow Arthur anywhere, to hell and beyond if need be. 

“Back up,” Nate pushed at Arthur’s shoulders, breathless now. “C’mon pet, ease up, I’m gonna-“ Arthur had started to pull back, but now he frowned again and fed himself another inch, sucking harder, and - hell - you’d have to be made of stone not to find that hot. “ _Jesus_ ,” Nate gasped, and now he was over the edge, free hand slapped over his mouth to stifle his keening, hips jerking against Arthur’s grip. Arthur ended up choking and coughing, pulling back, but his mouth and jaw were smeared, and as Nate lay back on the bed, braced on his elbows, panting, he blinked slowly as he watched Arthur wipe his mouth clean with the back of his hand, then lick up the spend curiously and pull a face. 

Damn this boy. “Gonna be the death of me,” Nate said, trying to catch his breath. “C’mon up here. Your turn.”


	5. Water Under the Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for @typhlotictiger :)
> 
> prompt: Danse/Maxson or Nate/Maxson, rimming
> 
> What is it with me at 32,000 ft in a plane surrounded by screaming babies that makes me want to write manporn

Nate had not been particularly impressed by his first sight of the Prydwen. He had volunteered for the Army the moment he had turned eighteen, after all. He had seen the military might of the pre-apocalyptic world, the nuclear-driven fist that had helped burn the world itself to ash. What was one patchwork armoured blimp with blocky little vertibirds, when Nate had once been part of a great fleet of cruisers, bombers and mobile armor, within the strongest army in the world? The Prydwen had been, in its way, even laughable to see. One lonely fat blimp with a scattering of blocky little babies, out in the middle of nowhere.

Now that he was on board the Prydwen on the move, however, Nate had to admit there was something… imposing, perhaps, about its presence. It felt like Nate was part of the very last edge of civilisation, up in the air, watching the blasted world below crawl past. He was sitting at the Prydwen’s tail, on the walkway, dangling his feet out into space, leaning a shoulder against the safety rail. Before him, the Commonwealth was receding slowly away. 

The Prydwen’s engines were a steady, dull roar all around him, heightened by the higher percussion of its vertibird escort. Nate breathed in steel and oil and grease and breathed out faint puffs of steam. The early morning temp drop was intense today, the weather always unpredictable after a rad storm. Curled around his back, Dogmeat nuzzled Nate’s shoulder, and Nate tickled it under its chin absently. 

A heavy step behind Nate made him glance behind his shoulder, though by the way Dogmeat perked up and whuffed a happy greeting, Nate could guess who it was. _Like master like dog._ Nate was amused by the time Arthur leaned against the rail beside him, elbows braced against the steel. 

“Morning sir,” Nate offered. “Shouldn’t you be up at the main command deck?” 

“Lancer Captain Kells has overall command of the bridge while the Prydwen is on the move,” Arthur reminded Nate dryly. “I appreciate your heightened opinion of my abilities, but I don’t actually fly this ship.” 

Nate grinned. A year had mellowed Arthur Maxson very slightly. Nate was clearly a good influence. “Oh, I don’t know sir. You might as well add it to your resume. Along with killing a deathclaw at thirteen and a super mutant master at fifteen and all that. Why not.” 

“If you’d add getting rid of the Institute to yours, Paladin.”

Nate glanced away, back at the Commonwealth. From here, he could still pick out Boston Airport, where Liberty Prime patrolled, the remaining Brotherhood presence headed by Paladin Brandis and a select number of Knights and Initiates. He could see the distant, forbidding bluff of the Castle, which would be starting to wake up by this hour, crowded with new Minutemen in training. Emerging as the victor in the four-way shitfest a year ago had done wonders for the legitimacy of the Minutemen presence in the Commonwealth. Given Preston the confidence he needed to take over as General. 

“Had a lot of help,” Nate said finally, gruffly. It wasn’t something that he was really proud of, all that death. But it wasn’t something that he really felt guilty about, either. He had already seen far too much death for a sentiment as innocent as guilt - long before he had even woken up into the future. 

“Regrets?” Arthur asked. Sometimes, the young Elder could be perceptive. 

“Some,” Nate allowed. “But I don’t let that bother me. Would’ve been nice to stay a bit longer. But it’s not like the Minutemen really need me now. And everyone else’s been puttering around fine before I even got here.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m glad that you’re following the muster.” 

“Can’t exactly decide to do my own thing, can I?” Nate asked, amused. “I’m a soldier. Always wanted to be one. Always been one.” The last few months before the Vault, trying to fit into civilian life, had been thoroughly uncomfortable. He had looked forward to the veteran’s ball for _weeks_. Poor Nora. 

“I can’t predict you,” Arthur admitted, his eyes following the dark smudge of the Prydwen’s shadow, rippling over sundered ruins. “Until you actually boarded the Prydwen, I couldn’t be sure that you weren’t staying. You were barely around all of the last week.” 

“Saying my goodbyes,” Nate said evasively. He had been doing the rounds: Desmodena, Deacon and the rest, Hancock and Goodneighbor, everyone. And Danse, who, despite everything, was still preparing to leave the Commonwealth, to head out alone to God knew where. Talk about collateral damage. 

Arthur’s expression tightened briefly. “Some days I’m not even sure why you’re even here. It’s clear to me that you don’t believe in the Brotherhood’s vision. _My_ vision.”

“If it’s any comfort, sir, I don’t believe in anything,” Nate said flippantly. 

“A man who believes in nothing accomplishes nothing,” Arthur disagreed. “No one can accuse you of that.”

In the distance, the Castle was no longer visible, or Boston Airport, and even the glowing sea was a faint, dirty green smear. Nate watched even that fade away over the horizon, then he sighed out aloud. “I didn’t believe in the war. Any of the wars. Before 2077. And still I fought. Killed people. Nearly died, a few times. Guess I realized early on that I’m damned good at following orders, and never got around to breaking the habit.” 

“I don’t believe that either,” Arthur said evenly. “You’ve been selective about Brotherhood missions. You chose to take on the Institute with the Minutemen, not with us.” 

“Man, are you still upset about that?” Nate chuckled. Arthur had been hurt about it for _months_ \- not that he actually said anything to Nate about it. He hadn’t needed to. For all that Arthur was so belligerent at the best of times, he could be surprisingly passive-aggressive. 

“I’m not _upset_ about it-“

“I gotta call bullshit on that, sir.”

“-I was _disappointed_ ,” Arthur corrected, scowling. “That you chose to take on the Institute with civilians. It was reckless.”

“Got the job done, didn’t it?” 

“It also showed a lack of trust.” 

“Not really,” Nate said cheerfully. “What was the Brotherhood plan again… stomp right over there with Liberty Prime and then… do what exactly? Start shovelling? I liked the Minutemen plan. In through the sewer, nice and easy. Quiet. I like things quiet. ‘Sides,” he added dryly, “I also like things done with minimum collateral damage.” 

“And still you’re here.” 

“That’s right.” 

“Why didn’t you stay on? As the General of the Minutemen?” 

Nate shrugged, turning to watch the Prydwen’s shadow as well. “‘Cos I’m a weapon, sir,” he said wryly. “Don’t think I don’t know that. Them Minutemen, even Preston - they _are_ civilians. Well-armed, well-meaning, sure. But they ain’t military. In the morning they take up a gun to walk a perimeter, in the afternoon they put it down and take up a farmer’s shovel, it’s all the same for them. Me,” Nate shook his head slowly, “I wouldn’t know where to start. All I’ve ever known was how to sit tight and wait for a mission. Tried civilian life before. Was climbing the fucking _walls_ in a week. Drove my wife crazy.” He petted Dogmeat, and it whuffed again, thumping its tail affectionately. “Guess me an’ the dog, we’re the same. Maybe sometimes we don’t do what we’re told. But at the end of the day, we’re just happy to have a master.” 

He could sense the weight of Arthur’s stare on his shoulders, but Nate didn’t look up. Eventually, Arthur said, a little uncertainly, “I never realized that you felt that way.” 

“You do now, sir.”

“I don’t… I don’t think about you like that. Or any of the Brotherhood. I’m your commanding officer, not… I don’t think about any of the _people_ under my command as weapons. Or units to be sent out to do my bidding.”

Nate glanced up, surprised. He hadn’t really expected Arthur to get upset - and Arthur _was_ upset, in the quiet, fierce way that he tended to get. Temper flared hot with Arthur, and quickly, but anything else he kept clammed in, but for the hard set to his jaw. “We know that,” Nate said finally. “You think people get this willing to die for a commander who doesn’t care about them? I don’t actually think that I’m a dog, by the way,” Nate added dryly. “I was being _metaphorical_. As awesome as Dogmeat is, he still pisses and craps where he likes. I think I’m a bit above that by now.” 

The stab at humour didn’t seem to work: Arthur sighed, pensive. “We’ve taken casualties out here,” he said abruptly, after they sat in silence for a while, when the Commonwealth itself had faded to a thin line on the horizon. “The holotags come back to me.” 

“Consequences of war, sir.” 

“I know that.” Arthur scratched at his jaw, fingers digging through his thick beard. “Each time Kells comes to me with a set, so that I can log the casualties into the terminal, it weighs on me. Each death.” 

Nate said nothing. _Could delegate_ , he wanted to say, but it wasn’t Arthur’s way, he could sense that. Likely everyone else on the Prydwen could. Arthur was not one to take command lightly - or its consequences. 

“But would you know,” Arthur said quietly, almost inaudible over the roar of the Prydwen’s engines, “Each time I sort through the holotags, sobering as it always is… I’m always a little selfishly glad at the end of it. That _your_ tags aren’t in the set. That it’s not your name that I’m logging into my terminal. You think that I’m angry with you because you chose to take on the Institute with the Minutemen? I don’t think you understand _why_. Strategically, if I could avoid a fight - avoid spending the lives of my people - I would. As long as the Institute was purged, I didn’t particularly care how it was done.”

“You were afraid that I wouldn’t come back,” Nate said slowly.

“You could’ve died out there, under all that,” Arthur told him flatly. “And I might never have known. Your tags might not ever have even come back to me. _That’s_ what I wasn’t happy about. I understand wanting to try a different tactical approach. But I would also have appreciated being _told_ that you were going to try it. Rather than finding out that something had happened only _after_ seeing the reactor failure onboard the Prydwen. I knew you had to have had something to do with that. For a whole _day_ I thought that maybe you’d died out there. Blown yourself up.” 

“I’ve always done things my way, sir,” Nate noted cautiously. “Hasn’t seemed to have been a problem before.”

“Before, I’ve always known what I was sending you into. Where you were going. Sent backup to meet you if I thought you couldn’t handle it yourself.” Arthur shook his head. “You’re a hell of a soldier, Paladin. But you’re also one hell of a loose cannon.”

“Seems to me,” Nate said lightly, “That I was once told that I had a discipline problem.” 

Arthur sniffed, his hands clasping and unclasping, elbows still pressed against the rail. Then he pushed himself back a step. “Leave the dog. Come with me.” 

Well, this was promising. Nate uncurled to his feet, and padded behind Arthur as they headed around the tail, and up a short flight of stairs to a storage room, lined with crates and supplies. It wasn’t used for anything else, as far as Nate knew - he used to have a little chest of his own in here, tucked to the side, with a few odds and ends, up until he’d ‘inherited’ Danse’s room. Arthur closed the door behind them, and hauled Nate over for a kiss, walking him back until Nate’s shoulders flattened against one of the stacks of crates. Nate let out a low rumble of appreciation, slipping his hands under Arthur’s coat, sliding down over his back, tracing the sleek lines of the jumpsuit until he tucked his thumbs over the strap that went around Arthur’s waist. 

To his surprise, Arthur shrugged off his coat, dumping it cavalierly over the crates. _Here_? It wasn’t as though Nate really had any sense of shame, but- “Probably more comfortable if we got to your room, sir.” 

Arthur frowned at him. “And it’s not obvious, do you think, with the Prydwen currently at near full capacity, for us both to disappear into my cabin in the middle of the morning?” 

“Depends whether you’ve got anything to be ashamed of, sir.” 

“That’s not the point,” Arthur growled, unbuckling Nate’s rifle holster and setting it aside on top of his coat, one-handed. “It’s a question of decorum. I’m not ashamed of you. Or of what we do.” 

“Probably because we haven’t yet pushed any kinda real boundaries, sir,” Nate said, with a challenging grin, kneading Arthur’s ass, and Arthur sucked in a hiss, grinding against Nate’s him, glowering at him. 

“What sort of boundaries?” 

“No one’s yet streaked naked through the mess hall-“ Nate started to laugh as Arthur pulled a face. “Joking. How about we push one right now?” he suggested slyly. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Let’s keep that a surprise. I know you take a shower every morning, sir. Did you do what I, ah, suggested? Today? Proper wash?” 

A flush climbed into Arthur’s cheeks. “Yes.” 

Fuck. “Was it good?”

“Better if it was by _your_ hand rather than mine.”

 _Fuck_. Arthur was smirking up at him now, and Nate had to kiss him, hold him tight. He really had no right to get this lucky a second time, but here he was, with Arthur flush against him, impatience writ large in the biting roughness of his kiss. Nate was breathing shallowly by the time Arthur let up, by the time he started to navigate the fiddly fucking little buckles of Arthur’s jumpsuit, Arthur’s low, husky laughter in his ear as he cursed.

Like Nate, Arthur was unselfconscious about nudity, testament to a lifetime in the military. He was smirking again as the jumpsuit joined Nate’s rifle and Arthur’s coat on the crates, boots kicked off, though he straightened up, back against the crates, as Nate went to his knees. Nate knew that Arthur didn’t like to be teased. But today, as he pushed Arthur back against the crates and got Arthur wet with his tongue, licking, kissing up from balls to the tip of his cock, Arthur made no complaint, a hand stroking through Nate’s hair instead, his breaths uneven. Arthur smelled clean, which was promising, and his cock firmed up eagerly under Nate’s mouth and fingers, flushing a deep red, curving up towards Arthur’s belly.

Arthur did make a sound of surprise when Nate tugged at his hip, though he turned around obligingly enough, and spread his legs when Nate pushed at his knees, gasping as Nate cupped heavy balls. “You know sir,” Nate said conversationally, kissing one pert cheek, “Someday you should just use me properly. Maybe not aboard the Prydwen. Somewhere where we can be louder.”

“Use you how?” Arthur asked, though his voice hitched a little, hungry.

“However you like. Tie me down - or not. I’m good at following orders,” Nate drawled, leaning up to kiss Arthur’s tailbone. “Fuck me, or use my cock, my mouth, whatever you like. Surprise me. Have some fun with toys, even. I don’t really have many boundaries.” 

Arthur hissed, his hands bracing against the crates, and Nate chuckled softly, bending to kiss a soft trail up Arthur’s inner thigh. “Think…” Arthur began, and his voice hitched. “Think that needs a proper action plan. I’ll consider it.” 

“You do that, sir.” Nate said, amused, and spread Arthur’s cheeks, gently. “Ready now?”

“For what?” 

“Just so you know,” Nate said, ignoring the question, “If you don’t actually like any of this and want it to stop, just tell me, yeah? You don’t have to please me. I want to please _you_.”

“Now you’ve made me curious,” Arthur said, anticipatory rather than wary, and Nate laughed again, a low huff that he pressed against Arthur’s ass, then he licked up, slowly, from Arthur’s balls and up his cleft, felt Arthur tense beneath him, listened to the startled huff that seemed punched out of Arthur as he went. 

Arthur caught on quickly to what Nate wanted to do. Not that it wasn’t obvious: on Nate’s second go, licking up, he lingered over Arthur’s hole, stroking the flat of his tongue over the puckered muscle, chuckling as Arthur let out a high, strangled sound and arched involuntarily against his mouth. This wasn’t going to be a problem then. Nate tightened his grip over Arthur’s ass, playfully, then he moaned, partly show, partly lust, as he started to really work Arthur open, licking against him, curling the tip of his tongue against his hole, savouring the taste, the scent, the shiver that cleaved right through Arthur’s knees, the high-pitched whimpering cry that crawled right out of the boy. _His_. Arthur was lover, commander, _master_ , and like this, Nate was keenly aware of how attuned he was to Arthur’s will, how central it felt to every fibre of his being. He whined when Arthur pressed back against him, moaned when Arthur let out a wet and strangled curse; he didn’t care how badly his own cock ached to be let out from his breeches. 

By the time Nate worked his tongue _inside_ Arthur, along with a finger, Arthur was keening and trying to stifle it, desperate little cries leaking through the fingers he had pressed inside his own mouth. His desperation racked through him in waves, and with Nate’s arms pressed up against Arthur’s thighs, he felt every bit of it, drank it all in, tried for more. Nate hadn’t done this for a while: Nora hadn’t liked it - she preferred to have his mouth elsewhere - but judging from how Arthur kept pushing back against him, urging him for more, it looked like his rusty technique had gone unnoticed. He licked deeper, curled his tongue, getting Arthur sloppy with spit.

Two fingers in and Arthur had given up trying to be quiet. His hands were white-knuckled on the crates, nails digging into the wood, and his head was bent, his gasps coming in shocked huffs. When Nate screwed his fingers deeper, pressed _up_ right on the money, Arthur jerked against him with a shout, as though shot through with an electric pulse, and he ground down, taking Nate all the way to the knuckles, choking out a string of curses. Nate was so hard now that it was making him lightheaded, but he didn’t bother to touch himself. In and out. Arthur’s hole was stretching wide now around Nate’s fingers, red and wet, though three was still a tight squeeze, had to _hurt_ , just with spit, for all that Arthur made impatient little snarls and tried to get Nate deeper. 

“Wanna come like this, sir?” Nate asked, and he barely recognised the low rasp of his voice. 

Arthur’s breathing ticked up a pitch, then he let out a moan from behind clenched teeth. “Not like this,” he panted finally. Use your… use just your mouth. Hand - agh - hand on my cock.” 

“Roger that, sir,” Nate grinned. He could do that. And Arthur was close after all, or maybe having just Nate’s mouth on him had shoved him right up to the brink: it only took a couple of tugs on Arthur’s cock before Arthur was coming, clenching down, Nate’s tongue curled deep inside him. Arthur slumped against the crates on his elbows, release still shaking through him, and Nate sat back, licking his hand clean, pressing the heel of a palm against his painfully hard cock. Then he waited. 

“Get up here,” Arthur said finally, without looking at him. “We’re not done yet. Do you have oil?”

“Gun oil.” Nate fumbled through his pouches.

“Good enough,” Arthur growled, and flashed him a sharp, feral grin over one bowed shoulder. “You want to please me? Then make me come again. Do you copy?” 

“Loud and clear, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aha I don't normally bother to post short kmeme fills to my AO3, but I just realized my LJ subscription expired, so I can't track individual threads anymore. Doh. Also, is it just me or is the new LJ captcha system seriously annoying... I don't want to play a jigsaw puzzle for every single 4300 character post...  
> \--  
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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